


Untitled

by SinbinSmut



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Cuckolding, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinbinSmut/pseuds/SinbinSmut
Summary: Ging has a brief exchange with Kite after catching him leaving their companion's tent, lingering on all the traces the man left on Kite's body.





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> My Word doc for this is named "Ging gets cucked". I couldn't think of a real name for it though... (。￣□￣)ﾂ whoops
> 
> Also, I made a Tumblr! The same name, sinbinsmut. ( ᐛ )و There's nothing on it right now, but if you want to come by and chat or something, feel free. I'm open to taking prompts if you've got any ideas, I'd like to practice doing short stuff like this.

The dregs of Ging’s drink have turned cold by the time Kite pokes his head out of the tent, glances around for voyeurs, and slips into the darkness with his long coat held tight around himself. There’s a bundle clutched to his chest, doubtlessly the dirtied clothes he’s sneaking off to the river to wash alongside himself. It makes for an indecent sight, his mussed hair and naked legs ghostly in the moonlight.

He doesn’t see Ging until Ging shifts, the movement immediately snapping his attention to where Ging is half-hunched over in his seat by the cooling embers of the campfire. His own tent is behind him, Kite’s beside it, and the tent Kite’s just leaving is on his left.

It’s dark, but Ging is sure he sees red bloom on Kite’s face, which morphs from alarm to horror to the defiance of the deeply embarrassed.

“You’re up late,” he says, quiet enough not to disturb the nighttime. Whichever one of their temporary companions he’s chosen this time is probably already asleep. Ging watches his lips move and lets his thoughts linger on how long they’d need to spend wrapped around a cock to look so red.

Some of the bolder conquests, once blackout drunk, had snickered to Ging just how good Kite was at that. How eager he was to learn the technique, and what a good student he must be if he’s got that level of enthusiasm for everything, especially with him being a virgin. That’s one of his favorite tricks, playing up how touch-starved he is, how lonely with moving from place to place all the time, then drawing back to simper _I don’t want to stop, I’ve just never done this before…_

He’s gotten good at recognizing which men will fall head over heels for it. It’s most of them. The Hunter lifestyle attracts a certain kind of person.

“So are you,” he responds.

“Julian wanted to hear about our trip to the desert a few months ago,” Kite says, as if that would take hours and as if Ging hasn’t been sitting here listening to him stifling moans around the man’s fingers in his mouth. There are bruises dotting his neck, a scratchiness in his throat that speaks to rough treatment. However much he bunches up the fabric, his coat doesn’t completely hide the pale expanse of his pressed-together thighs.

Ging’s eyes drift to the clothes in his arms and Kite stiffens. “I spilled my drink on myself,” he lies, and it’s not a terrible one. It’s believable enough that Ging lets it go and answers “You’d better wash them, then,” and Kite nods, already turning to go.

“Kite,” Ging adds, holding him there for a moment longer, and grins. “Do some stretches before bed.”

Kite turns pink again, nods jerkily, and scurries away. Ging watches his retreating back disappear between the trees. Someone unfamiliar with him wouldn’t notice the tiny discomfort in his gait, but Ging notices and the cup in his hand creaks dangerously, wounded like the little wounded sounds Kite always makes when the men he chooses work their way inside him. How kind they are varies, but Kite’s no stranger to pain. From how he mewls, he seems to like it better when they’re mean. This one had been gentle and slow, but thorough from what Ging can tell. He remembers how tight Kite had been squeezing his thighs together and pictures the man’s cum dripping out of a hole too well-used to keep it inside, making Kite’s legs sticky and dirty while he said those few words to Ging. How sloppy he must look, spreading his legs for anyone he can dig his little claws into, offering up however much of himself they want to take. The little hitch in Kite’s breath when he finally sinks into the river water and has to press his fingers inside himself again to get all the way clean.

The cup cracks. Ging lets out a long, slow breath, and savors the hot pulse of jealousy in his blood.


End file.
